Roman Holiday

SUMMER IS A DREADFUL time to be in Rome as there’s no escape from the unrelenting heat and heaving throngs of visitors running between the seven hills of historic ruins and reigns. Nonetheless, prone to making ill-considered choices, here I was walking across Caesar’s city, under the July sun masquerading as a cauldron, carrying about myself a sack of emotions that flitted between confusion (Rome is vast), exhaustion (an obvi­ous consequence of trudging around Rome) and frequent delight (the litany of rewards that Rome throws one’s way via classical monu­ments, Renaissance artifices, inviting gelaterias or even a lovingly preserved ’75 Fiat 500 sitting parked under a tumble of star jasmine creepers at her many obscure turns).

They say everything in Rome has been recy­cled, reused, remodelled, rebuilt, and rightly so, for how else could an edifice built in 125 CE still be standing as the Pantheon did before me as I approached it from the Piazza della Rotonda hooked by the sound of Pink Floyd’s ‘Another Brick in the Wall’ pulsating the air thick with summer sweat, which the buskers performed standing in front of the Obelisk. Merging unas­sumingly with the city that has grown around it, the Pantheon’s dome rises just slightly above the neighbourhood buildings with pastel-hued exteriors. An ancient temple built to accommo­date all gods, its portico surprises with its giant columns of Egyptian granite (a far cry from Floyd’s bricks) that were transported across the Nile centuries ago, elegant and eternal in its imposing structure.

Built under Hadrian in the second century, this monumental domed temple has survived intact, owing to its consecra­tion as a Christian church—Santa Maria Rotonda—in 609 CE from the pagan pan­theon, which possibly protected it from the marauding forces of long-dead kings. If one considers Panini’s depiction of the Pantheon dating circa 1734, one would find it peopled with an animated mix of Romans and foreigners gathered under the giant oculus to offer prayers, socialise and admire the peerless architecture. If the tall columns in the porch bring to mind a temple, the inner hall with a roof topped with the iconic dome that has no opening except for the one hole at the centre that allows light to pour in feels as sealed as a tomb. And as a tomb it does function with Raphael, the Renaissance painter, Vittorio Emanuel II and Umberto I, Italy’s early kings among notable others buried in its cool interiors.

The fourteenth century Mirabilia urbis Romae (Marvels of the City of Rome), which served as a popular guide for visitors back in the day, though lacking in accuracy, made clear that Rome was built of and on ruins. It mentioned that no visitor to the city could ignore the beauty of the Panthe­on’s roof, which had once been covered with “tiles of gilded brass, so much so that from afar it seemed to be a mountain of gold…”. While it is impossible to verify its gold-clad avatar, the light that pours into the cool chambers through the oculus, the structure’s eye at the top, renders a sense of conceptual splendour that made even Michelangelo marvel. He is known to have said that its build was “angelic, not human”.

Inside, the Pantheon is a curiosity as it is a feat of ancient Roman architecture— the distance between the oculus and the floor is the same as the width of the space, that is 43.3m (142 feet). Built with heavy solid material at the base, the Pantheon loses heft as it rises to its top. The dome is built with unreinforced concrete mixed with pumice, a volcanic rock so airy it floats in water, with the hole of the oculus further balancing the weight of its giant proportions. It is architectural perfection and engineering victory rolled into one.

Past the immensely tall columns of the portico, as I walked through the massive brass gates a profound hush descended around me, muting the milling crowds out on the piazza. The blazing sun that had turned the city’s streets liquid outside was suddenly constrained inside a giant eye at the top, streaming light down to the marble floors beneath illuminating the polished surfaces with an ethereal lumi­nosity that bounced against the grey cool of the walls. The play of light and shadow held me in a thrall and I stood there and watched others being as moved by this phenomenal work of creativity. A few visitors occasionally walked up to the centre of the dome where the light flood­ed the floor, their hands outstretched in joy until they were quietly escorted away by the guards. When it rains in Rome, the water gathers in a puddle before draining into the channels drilled in the marble floor adorned by the ancient red porphyry and giallo antico, some of it surviving intact for over two thousand years.

SYMMETRY LOOMS LARGE in my mind as I stand taking in the experience that the Pantheon opens up before me. Although I under­stand next to nothing of architectural intricacies, I feel strangely uplifted and comforted by the enveloping stillness of this tomb, with the blue sky flecked with passing clouds visible through the oculus. Light shimmies off glinting marbles and gestures of people as it moves with the day’s progress and dims as the night draws near. At night, the giant doors of the temple are bolted shut to visitors with a sense of finality. Inside the Pantheon, natural light serves as the star that guides one’s journey, and I find tracing this in­terplay of light and darkness immensely refreshing after days of tirelessly looking at and studying the walls and ceilings of celebrated cathedrals and museums lined with Baroque excess and Renaissance equilibrium so much so that my eyes had started to protest at the sight of another Caravaggio or Bernini, my mind ready to render art into the realm of absurdity.

The circular form of the Pantheon embodied peace—removed from or­namental flourish—its spare elements allowed one to hold still for a moment. A rowdy crowd would walk through the heavily restored, immense bronze doors and fall silent. One would notice people whisper instead of talk. And who could not see how priceless this dome of quiet was in a metropolis that was blaring with the infernal noise of a million people, Vespas, ambulances, trams, buses, all pressed for time in this eternal city where past glory and present wretchedness walked in tandem?

The Pantheon, however, is not the only dome that marks this city of ruins and revelations. Rome, indeed, is a city of domes. Not too far away, across the glassy Tiber, stands the hallowed Vatican and its majestic dome—St Peter’s Basilica. Michelangelo designed its dome to span the St Peter’s enormous transept and made it 42m (138 feet) in diameter in deference to the Pantheon’s sublime roof. Towering over Rome’s skyline, unlike the earthy Pantheon, the blue-gilded cupola of the basilica sits proud, adorned with its bejewelled lantern, serving as a focal point for the faithful and the faithless alike. Sumptuously embellished by mosaics and stuccos, dripping with the artistry of Turchi, Torelli, Rossetti, Abatini, and Serafini, it triumphantly announces its abiding relevance to a world that some­times chuckles at its divine pull.

Leading up from Via Merulana spreads out another richly decorated, fifth-century church aflush with Byzantine splendour—the Santa Maria Maggiore. Looming over the smaller churches and basilicas, shining brilliantly over the piazza lined with magnolia trees, baker­ies, and packed with tourists emptying bottles of sun-warmed mineral water over their heads to keep cool on the Esquiline Hill, Santa Maria’s cupola is resplendent with Cigoli’s painted scenes of the Assumption of Mary. One of Rome’s four papal basilicas, it also houses a spiral staircase of architectural wonder built by Bernini, and a chapel designed by Michelangelo. In 352 CE , under Pope Liberius, when a Roman nobleman and his wife dreamt of the Madonna and, decided to dedicate their fortune to build a church, asked for a sign of what to do, snow­flakes descended on the Esquiline Hill in sweltering August and the drifts traced what would become the perimeters of Santa Maria Maggiore, also sometimes called Our Lady of the Snows. Each August, white petals float down through the ornate nave to commemo­rate the occasion, where the late Pope Francis was recently laid to rest.

From pagan domes to magnificent cupolas to vaulted ceilings of ancient bath houses, such as Baths of Diocletian and the Basilica of Maxentius, both mostly in ruins, these domes hark back to an age that saw Rome dictate the trends of super­lative architectural styles, art and design and delighted in the reach of its power and dominance of its men over nature. The shining threads of these numerous domes still be­witch, as is evident from the approaching waves of seekers surrendering under its spell like lovers under a darkling sky lit with a million stars.

Having trekked across Rome’s seven hills and its several thousand alleys, I returned to the pale block of the serene Pantheon on the last day of my first trip to the Italian capi­tal, a tired tourist. And was I glad to be able to step back inside the oculus’s circle of light illuminating the walls within and without, where time collapsed, and calm prevailed.

immortal architectureItalian capitalSt Peter's BasilicaThe PantheonTravel Issue 2025Vatican City